


A soldiers path

by Sebastians_senpai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1990s, 1996, Afghanistan, Angst, Dates, Diseases, Drinking, Fights, Fluff, Gay, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Hospital, Love, M/M, War, Work, cute moments, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebastians_senpai/pseuds/Sebastians_senpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What begins as a new-found love between Sherlock and John in the year of 1996 quickly turns into something far more delicate when John is drafted in the Afghan war. The two boys both think goodbye is only temporary, but their lives become fraught with danger and pain. Sherlock will have to make a choice that will change him forever, but somethings have to be done, don't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1996, England.

Nineteen year old Sherlock stood leaning against the doors of Oxford University's cafeteria, a cigarette between his lips. He surveyed the room with quiet boredom, his eyes roaming over the laughing students. He analysed them all, the words popping into his mind as he looked at each one in turn. Hundreds of them, thousands of words and facts swirling round behind his eyes. Sighing, he looked down at his feet and took another drag.

"Holmes." Said a rough voice. "I don't believe you're allowed to smoke in here."

Sherlock lifted his head wearily. It was Jonah Parkson, older than Sherlock by only a year or two. He was studying Literature, and Sherlock knew he was smart. But not as smart as him.

"I'm not." He said, blowing the smoke out quietly.

Jonah took a step closer and tensed. "Get out, then."

When Sherlock made no move, Jonah grabbed a fistful of his blazer and yanked him closer, their heads bent together. "Listen here, you creepy little fuck. I don't know how you know all this shit about everyone, but you get better get the fuck out of my way and stay out my way."

Sherlock gave him an easy smile, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. "Careful, Jonah. Don't want people thinking you're kissing me, would we? That would be awfully bad for my reputation."

Jonah dropped him and stepped back, his two friends at his side. His face fumed and he slammed Sherlock against the door frame, watching the cigarette fall to the floor. "Don't try to fuck with me. We all know you're the queer one."

Sherlock flinched, but covered it up. He set his steely gaze on Jonah, his voice steady. "Asexual, thank you very much."

Paul, Jonah's right hand man, leaned forward, his chestnut hair shining under the bright lights of the cafeteria. People looked on by them- this was a usual sight. Every day, maybe every second day if Sherlock was lucky, they'd find him, and torment him. "Fag. No wonder your dorm member moved out- I would too if I had you looking at me getting changed."

Sherlock grit his teeth. It was true, Drew did move out. But it wasn't because of that. In fact, he'd almost gotten along with Drew, more than Sherlock had with anyone else. One day, Sherlock had come back to find Drew clutching a handful of the men's magazines that Sherlock hid in his pillowcase, his face blank. He remembered trying to take them off him, brush it off as some kind of accident, but Drew wasn't fooled.

"What the fuck, Sherlock?" He said, eyes wide.

Sherlock frowned and ripped them from Drew's hands, his face blushing. "What were you doing looking through my stuff?"

Drew retreated far away from him, backing up against his wardrobe. "It's wrong! It's wrong! You fucking fag!"

"And yet, you're the one who feels she's trapped in the wrong body." He said simply, his words going softer.

"H-How...you're lying! Stop it!" He screamed, hands reaching out to fling anything at Sherlock.

Sherlock whipped his head round sharply. "Don't tell my secret, and I wont tell yours. Please."

Drew looked at him, scrambling to the door. "Stay the fuck away from me."

Sherlock remembered how the rumors spread like wildfire about him, and suddenly, it was as if he had the plague. People avoided him even more, purposefully keeping their eyes away from him. Even teachers tried to stay away from him when they could, any eye contact immediately broken. That's when the teasing had started. 'Fag' and 'queer' were some of the student's favourite words to hurl at him, and he often found they'd scribbled things like 'cock-sucker' on his dorm door whenever he came back from the library. But he never told Mycroft, and he never would.

"I never looked at him." Sherlock said, the words barely escaping his mouth. He could tell Drew's secret right now, and Lord knows the bastard deserved it, but he bit his tongue. "Contrary to what you think I don't see every guy as another shag!"

Jonah scoffed. "Another shag? As if anyone's ever shagged you, you fucking creep."

Sherlock looked at him through steely eyes, watching as Jonah and his crew backed off, walking away like nothing happened. He held his body straight and stiffly walked around, running a hand though his unruly head of curly black hair. He'd miss the rest of today's classes, he could catch up. He was sick of people, so sick of them and their stupid words. Pulling another cigarette out of his pocket, Sherlock lit it and walked away, not paying attention to where he was going. He walked until he was off campus, the busy streets enveloping him like a blanket of familiarity. He looked down at his feet in anger, and then suddenly, he slammed into him.

John reeled back, the force of the tall boy nearly sending him flying. He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, steadying them both. He was a head taller than John, and it was only when he lifted his head that he saw how truly stunning he was. His eyes were light blue, like ice over a lake, glistening with the same coldness, and his cheekbones were so prominent John thought he could cut his fingers in he touched them. His skin was pale and clear, and on his head was a mop of unruly black hair. He was gorgeous. John coughed and withdrew his hands, trying to keep them still at his sides. "Sorry about that."

Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. He'd managed to keep his cigarette in his hand this time, his fingers curling around it tightly. "No, sorry. It was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

John crossed his arms, and Sherlock could see his muscles press against the material. This guy was buff. "It's fine, honestly. I'm John."

Sherlock sighed and nodded politely. "Sherlock."

"Sherlock? That's a weird name." He said lightly, interest in his eyes.

Sherlock went to move away. He had no idea why he was still talking to the blonde haired boy, he didn't usually socialize with people. Most weren't even on his intellectual level anyway. There was no point wasting time here. "Yeah, thanks. I'll be going now."

John shot out his hand before he even realised what he was doing. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's arm, stopping him from walking away. Quicker than a blink, he whirred back round, staring at John's hand, which he hastily removed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine. Now, if you don't mind, I'm in a shit mood and I'd like to walk away, so please let me this time." Sherlock's voice was weary.

John bit his lip, and Sherlock felt something stir inside him. John was noting particularly special, but Sherlock had to admit- he had a certain something about him. A sense of toughness, strength. Energy. His skin was pale and his hair was sticking up in random tufts, like he's ran his hands through it. Although he was small, he had an athletic build, and his eyes were easy-going and deep blue, sparkling with amusement.

"Yeah, of course. Or, I could, you know, buy you a coffee." John said, and Sherlock felt his eyes narrowing. Why would he do that? What was in it for John?

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but by social protocol, shouldn't I be buying you one? I walked into you. Why would you buy me one?" He said, his voice slightly curious.

John gave a light laugh. "I'll let it slide. Besides, you said you're in a shit mood. Coffee cheers me us when I'm in a shitty mood."

"Why would a beverage cheer you up when you're sad?" Sherlock asked, a dark eyebrow raised.

John shook his head in exasperation. "Okay, so maybe it doesn't. Look, do you want a coffee or not?"

Sherlock looked around him, those ice eyes scanning everything. He was certain nobody from his University was here, but the place held thousands, more than Sherlock could afford to remember. Finally, he looked back to John, those deep blue eyes staring into his expectantly. "I can't, I'm sorry. I need to get away from here."

John's face fell slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

Sherlock groaned quietly. Why did he feel bad? What was this? He'd never before been subjected to these feelings before, but now guilt was a coiled rope inside him, sitting heavy in his stomach. Sighing, he stuck a hand out for a taxi and when it arrived, he opened it's door. "You can come, too. I'm going to London."

John considered this and smiled, a great big grin, flashing a dimple. "Okay."

Without really knowing what he was doing, John climbed inside the taxi. He knew absolutely nothing about this boy, yet here he was, in a taxi with him, heading to London. The journey was silent, until John couldn't bear it.

"So," He said. "Tell me about yourself."

Sherlock tilted his head, questioning his own actions. Why had he let John in the cab with him? He was a stranger, he could be dangerous, yet he offered him a ride to London. Maybe he wanted to John to be dangerous- his life was like a song on repeat, never any change. He wanted change. Still, this wasn't how Sherlock acted. He didn't just invite boys with him, even if they had deep blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Realizing John was still waiting on an answer, Sherlock sighed.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'm 19. I play the violin, I'm a student at Oxford University, and I'm a genius." He said simply, no tone to his voice.

John nodded, slightly taken aback. "Really? Oxford? Really? You must be rich."

Sherlock shrugged. "My mother's a Mathematician. She's smart, and she teaches at Cambridge. I'd hardly say we're rich."

John pursed his lips and smiled, causing an unfamiliar fluttering to occur in Sherlock's stomach, which he vehemently pushed away. What the hell was going on? Was he unwell? John's soft voice caught his attention. "What are you studying?"

"Criminology and psychology." He said, resting his chin on his hand.

John gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Smart." And stunning. "That's gotta be hard."

Shrugging, he deflected John's praise. "It's alright. Not particular what I'd like to be doing with my time, but at least it keeps me occupied."

John laughed, and the sound lifted Sherlock's mood slightly. "Let me guess, you get bored if you're not doing something."

"No," said Sherlock, looking at John. "I get bored if I'm not thinking."

"Are you bored now?" John said, interested. The truth was, the dark haired boy intrigued him, with his deep voice and horrid people skills. He was something new, something different. John liked it.

"No." Sherlock found himself saying, surprised at his own answer. But he wasn't, not really. He hadn't ever held a conversation this long with no insults for a very, very long time, and he found that it wasn't as awful as he'd thought.

John's mouth quirked and he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. "Okay. Don't you wanna know more about me?"

"I have everything I need to know about you." He said quietly. This was the part where it all went wrong; he could feel it. So many times he'd done this and each time he'd been shunned, ridiculed. What was it to lose another person? It shouldn't even affect him- everyone left him.

John's eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"No, no, it does! What do you mean?" His tone was not harsh, but gentle, curious.

Sighing, Sherlock shifted his weight and faced him. "Trust me, it doesn't matter. Look, we're here. Come on."

Scrambling out the taxi, John flung some notes down and raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. "What? It's on me."

Baffled, they walked, John letting Sherlock lead the way. He still found it strange that he was following the boy, but he didn't feel in any danger. Even though he was wiry, John was stockily built, and felt he could hold his own if Sherlock turned out to be a raging psychopath.

They pushed open the door to a coffee shop and sat down, facing each other. The waitress came over, her pale brown hair held up in a ponytail. "What can I get you?"

"Erm, coffee, milk. You?" John nodded at Sherlock.

"Coffee, black, two sugars." He said curtly, turning his attention back to John.

Shooting him a smile, John clasped his hands and set them on the table. "Since you wont say what you know about me, I'll tell you, and you can see if you've got it right."

Sherlock nodded, humoring him. "Fine."

"I'm John Watson, and I'm also nineteen. I have a sister, Harriet, who's a little bit off the rails just now. I live on my own, in a small dingy apartment, but it's better than living with the parents. I'm studying to be a doctor, and in my spare time I work at the Old Folk's home, as well as some quick shifts in the library. I'm not particularly musical, I can't sing very well and most of my clothes are rather uncool. But they're comfy, so I don't care..." Grinning, he fluttered his eyes at Sherlock. "I'm an Aries, and I love long walks on the beach-"

Sherlock snorted and slipped John a slight smile. It felt good to laugh, he hadn't done that in a long time. He felt that fluttering feeling in his stomach again and frowned slightly- what the hell was that?

John leaned forward on his elbows. "What's up?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just...an unusual feeling, that's all." He said quietly. "Something new."

"Isn't new good?" John asked.

"Occasionally..." Sherlock pushed the black curls away from his face and caught John's eye. He wished John would stop staring at him; he got enough of that at University.

Just then, the woman came over, handing them two coffees. She smiled at John and passed him a note, before winking and walking back to the counter, her hair swishing behind her.

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee and shrugged, it was okay. He raised his eyebrow as the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, clearly disinterested. "Clearly her number."

Giving a faint smile, John took a sip of his coffee. "Clearly."

For some reason, that smile had Sherlock furrowing his brows, trying to figure out John's dismissal of the note. As far as he could tell, the girl was pretty, and she seemed interested. He wondered if John had a type of girl that he preferred. After finishing their coffee, Sherlock was surprised to find himself happier. The rage inside him had died down, and he felt close to being relaxed. It was an unusual feeling, he wasn't entirely sure he liked it yet.

Standing up, Sherlock cleared his throat. "So, the waitress.."

"What about her?" John chuckled, his fingers twirling the note around. He placed a five pound note on the table underneath the mug.

"Are you going to call her?" He asked. It didn't feel so much like forced politeness anymore, he was beginning to actually like John. He wasn't stuck up, or pompous or crude...of course that could all change if he found out about Sherlock.

That grin growing wider, John shook his head. "Nope. I have a certain type, she's not it."

"Oh." Sherlock pushed his chair in and lifted his head. "What is your type? Asian? Red-heads?"

John walked over to the bin, dropping the note in it. "Men."

Sherlock blanched. He couldn't find the words, they seemed to be stuck in his throat. Giving a quick cough, he tried to start a sentence again and again, but never quick managed to make it past the first couple of stutters.

John groaned and tilted his head. "Fuck, you're homophobic, aren't you?"

Sherlock tried to speak, but all that came out was a baffled chuckle. "No, no I'm not...It's just-"

"Just what?" He asked curiously.

"I...you're um," Sherlock rubbed his head. "You're gay."

"No shit, Sherlock." John muttered. "Was there a point to that statement?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock tried again. "Yes! Yes, I was trying to say that, that I am, too. And I...probably shouldn't have told you that."

John gave a grin. They were outside on the street now, the people too busy to care about their conversation. "Must be my lucky day. I'm guessing you're not out yet."

Sherlock shook his head. "You are?"

"To a selected few. I've got to keep it a secret or being a Doctor could get hell of a lot harder." John said quietly.

"Oh." Sherlock bent his head. "Everybody avoids me at school, because of the rumors. Which wouldn't actually be that bad, if it weren't for the 'queer' and 'fag' name-calling every two seconds."

John bristled. "I hate that word."

"I've gotten used to it." Sherlock murmured, his thoughts drifting. He felt somewhat relieved at finding someone the same as him, someone he didn't have to hide from. But John was lively and tough and funny, a new challenge that Sherlock got to learn about. He was different from the people who filled the hours of Sherlock's life, and he was glad of this change. Suddenly, the thought that John would go away again occurred to him and he stopped, his words hesitant.

"John, I, uh.." Sherlock coughed. "I'd like to become better acquainted, if that's all right. I despise the people in my life these days- it'd be nice to have someone who's not an arrogant, genius git."

"Good thing I'm just a regular git then." John mused, an easy smile spreading across his face. He pulled a receipt out from his pocket and a pen from the other, writing his number down quickly. He handed the paper to Sherlock and flogged down a taxi, his eyes alive with humor. "Drop me a call, genius."

As John drove away, Sherlock held the receipt in his pale hand, staring at it with slight disbelief. Not only had he actually talked to someone without despising them within the first ten minutes, he'd gotten halfway to making a friend. Unbelievable. "Oh, John Watson. That's exactly what I plan to do."


	2. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sets Sherlock a challenge to find him.

Sherlock sat in his empty dorm, the walls bare except from a poster of all the elements. He had a desk pushed off to the far side, cluttered with pens and unfinished papers, a few stray books lying abandoned. He sat on his bed, the cotton sheets only slightly lighter than his skin. His room was quiet, but he didn't mind- there wasn't much music he could really listen to without his mind begging for something else. He preferred to write his own. The receipt sat in his hand, and he stared at it apprehensively, the ticks of the clock appearing to get louder and louder the longer he stared at it. It felt strange in his hand, and he began to wonder. What exactly did he feel for John? He didn't exactly know if it was romantic, all he knew was that John intrigued him, and that he was something else. Sherlock could have most people sussed out within a minute, know things about them within one conversation, but John...John was different. A completely new puzzle for him to discover. So should he call him? The silence of the room filled Sherlock's ears and he groaned quietly. How soon could you call them? A day? More? He didn't know how long the other people waited.

"Two days." He said slowly. "I'll call him in two days."

Sherlock managed four hours before he reached for the phone. His fingers pressed the buttons hurriedly and he held the phone to his ear, hearing it wring out. Finally, John answered, his voice quiet.

"Hello?"

Sherlock coughed, his throat suddenly seeming dry. Why had he called him? What happened to two days? "Yes, erm, John. Hi."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed quietly, a happy tone to his voice. "It's only been six hours."

"Yes." Sherlock felt his face turn red and cursed mentally- he felt, for once, stupid. He didn't like the feeling. "I-I'm sorry. I-"

"No, no, it's fine. I never liked having to wait anyway." John said, chuckling quietly. "What's up?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Sherlock's brows furrowed; he really should have thought this out more. "I'd like to meet up again."

"Okay, when?" The quiet voice on the other line said.

"Soon. Social rules would say I should wait a few days, but I find it only logical to meet again quickly."

Another chuckle. "I'm at the library."

"What one?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Guess." John's voice was playful.

Just a bit shocked, Sherlock blinked. "Sorry?"

"If you can guess the right library by, say...seven, then you'll find me."

"Are you playing games with me, John?" Sherlock's voice was carefully intrigued as he thought about it. John was full of surprises.

"You're only happy when you're thinking. So think for me, genius." John said playfully.

A slow smile spreading across his lips, Sherlock tilted his head, his voice low. "What makes you think I'm going to find you? Or that I want to?"

"Because you can't refuse a challenge. See you in an hour, smart boy." John's voice said, and then he hung up.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. Again, the sound seemed foreign to him, but he welcomed it. Standing up, Sherlock put the receipt in his pocket and took a deep breath, his eyes closing. He mapped out London, the sight of every library spilling into his mind. The National Archives? No. Saint Bride? No, too artsy for John. London Metropolitan Archives, The Women's Library, British Library...no, no, no! Sherlock cast these ones aside, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. Westminster Reference Library. N- wait, yes. That was it, that was the library. He gasped and opened his eyes, almost certain he'd got it right. Flinging his gaze down to hit watch, he was glad to see he still had 55 minutes left. The corner of his lip turned up, he opened the door to his dorm and walked out, the stares for once not bothering him.

Sherlock pushed the doors to the library open, glancing at his watch. Three minutes to spare, he could do this. This was the right one, he was sure of it. With a deep breath, his long legs took off in a stride, searching for John. He'd have to be somewhere visible, where Sherlock could see him straight away. The cafe? No- too many people. Somewhere quieter. The lounge? Yes, he'd go there. Walking towards the sitting area, he stood quietly, shooting his watch a look. One minute left. He'd show up- Sherlock knew he would. He'd gotten it right, this was where he was. The minute ticked by and Sherlock felt himself sag in disappointment. He was wrong. He lost the challenge. He didn't get John. Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, determined to get by it. He hated being wrong, he was so used to being right.

"Hello, genius."

Sherlock turned round to see a muscled boy with sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, a smile upon his face.

Sherlock felt himself smile a little. He was right. "I won the challenge."

John strode up to him, tilting is head up. "You did. I didn't think you would, but you did. Amazing. How'd you do it?"

Sherlock felt himself warm up inside. Amazing. Nobody had ever called him amazing before, it was always 'freak' or 'creep'. Amazing was new, and it sent a warm feeling through his body. "I deducted."

"Deducted?" John asked, his lips parted slightly.

Sherlock found himself staring at those lips, and noticing how soft they looked. Banishing the thought from his head as quickly as it entered, he cleared his throat. "Yes. Deducing. I notice the tiny details, the things that are there but people miss. I can tell so much about a person simply from their outfit, or the way they stand. I have the whole of London mapped out in my head, and everything sorted into files, shall we say. It's organised, and I call it my Mind Palace. It's where I need to go if I have to think deeply about something, eliminate factors, etc...everything I find important, I store in there."

John looked up with appreciation and awe in his eyes. "You...are incredible. What about things you don't find important?"

"I delete them." Sherlock was finding it hard to breathe with John so close. There he was again, with his words, their foreignness wrapping round him.

"Delete?" John watched Sherlock with interest; he'd never seen someone so smart, so hidden.

"Get rid of them. Once I've deleted something, I can't remember it afterwards." He whispered.

John tilted his head. "Would you ever delete me?"

"No." The word flew out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about it. Blushing furiously, he tried to take a step back, but John's hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. "Wait. You won the challenge, which means you get a prize."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What do I get?"

"This." John leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, feeling him stiffen beneath him.

Sherlock pushed him off gently, trying not to make a scene. "Please don't."

Curious, John squinted. "Why."

"Because I am not what you want or need." He said seriously. I'm broken.

"Since when do you get to decide what I want?" He said, a tone of fire in his voice.

"Everyone gets to know me, and everyone leaves. I don't want that happening again. So, for the sake of another broken friendship, or relationship, I suggest you just...don't."

John looked at him, a sad smile on his face. "I won't leave you. Contrary to what you think, you interest me. I can't get you out of my head, and it's barely been a day since we met. I'm not asking for everything, but give me a chance, Sherlock. I won't push you away."

Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe those words, but he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself. Emotions only hurt you in the end- it was better to just shut them off whenever you could. But still, hope was a seed inside him, begging for the chance to grow. "We barely know each other. If you really got to know me, you wouldn't like me, John. I'm...different."

"You're lonely. A sad, lonely genius, but you're brilliant all the same. I want to have the choice to get to know you, Sherlock. Give me that chance." John said, his eyes pleading.

Sherlock cast a wary look around, then back to John. "Let's go somewhere else. This is too public for me, I don't want anyone seeing."

John nodded, pulling out a pair of car keys from his pocket. "My apartment?" Sherlock stared at the keys uncertainly, indecision growing inside him. John sighed, exasperated. "I'm not going to murder you."

"I know." Sherlock said quietly. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

As they walked out side by side, John walked to his car and opened the door for Sherlock, chuckling at the wary expression on his face. Climbing in beside him, he leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear, his voice soft. "It's a good thing I like different."


End file.
